


Absolutely Anything

by 401



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Brooklyn, Bucky Barnes Feels, M/M, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Prostitution, Rough Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Shame, Sick Steve Rogers, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-20
Updated: 2015-08-20
Packaged: 2018-04-16 08:02:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4617708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/401/pseuds/401
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>'Bucky Barnes would do anything for Steve. Absolutely anything.'</p><p>So when he sees Steve getting sicker and sicker, unable to afford medication with odd jobs and borrowing, he turns to desperate measures.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Absolutely Anything

**Author's Note:**

> pretty heavy stuff here.

 

Another day of hard graft had showed up nowhere near the amount of money the local pharmacist was asking for epinephrine and linctus syrup and Steve’s breathing was getting noisier and more painful by the minute. Exhalations would wheeze, tight and stiff, and inhalations would crackle like soda through a straw. If he breathed out too far he would cough so hard that his eyes would stream and catching his breath was impossible. It was the cold, and no amount of Bucky’s old shirts jammed into the cracks in the sash windows were keeping out the draughts. Warming up the apartment was proving useless, odd jobs around the neighbourhood were producing pennies and Bucky was running out of options.

_But Bucky would do anything for Steve. Absolutely anything._

 

So Bucky stood in front of the smudged mirror in his bedroom, slicking his hair as neat as he could get it and straightening his shirt and pressed slacks. He took a deep breath, casting the images of what he was going to have to do out of his head. He questioned whether to take a stiff drink before he left, but decided a clear mind was his best bet.

“Stevie…” Bucky sat down on the couch next to Steve.

He was huddled up on the couch, a blanket wrapped around his skinny shoulders and two pairs of socks on. His lips were darker than usual, tinged with the effort of ragged breathing and his forehead was sheened with sweat. The sight made Bucky wince, even though this was the best Steve had looked all day.

“Mhm?” Steve’s voice was hoarse.

Bucky sighed, trying to keep himself steady.

“I’ve got some work tonight, you’ll be alright without me?” Bucky rubbed Steve’s neck.

Steve smiled and nodded, shrugging the concern off.

“There’s a Reuben in the fridge for you too, if you’re hungry later too. Don’t wait up for me, I’ll be back pretty late.”

Steve’s face fell to a frown. He turned to Bucky with a look that meant ‘I’ve called your bullshit, Barnes.’

“Why so late?” Steve questioned, not much of an interrogation but enough to make Bucky’s chest tighten.

“Oh…I’ve got a dame I’m meeting after, nothing special Steve,” Bucky tried to relax his face, but the tension in his cheeks was persistent. He was hyper-aware of his expression.

“What’s her name?” Steve asked with narrowed eyes.

“Chris…Chrissy. Her pa said there was some work about the house to do to, he’d pay me for it good too.”

Steve nodded slowly before smiling, his tired face softening enough that Bucky could feel like he was out of the woods.

“Well,” Steve cleared his throat, his voice catching in a wheeze, “Have a good time.”

 

Bucky stroked Steve’s sweat dampened fringe away from his forehead affectionately before patting his shoulder and saying goodbye.

 

“Thanks for all this, Buck,” Steve called before Bucky left, “You work real hard.”

 

“S’nothing, Stevie,” Bucky shrugged, holding his voice in place, “Nothing at all.”

 

_Bucky would do anything for Steve. Absolutely anything._

 

He forced that into his head as he jogged down the dark alleys of Hell’s Kitchen, following the address on the crumpled piece of paper in his sweaty palm.

_42 Canary Avenue, 9pm_

_Christopher Beech_

_Keep it shtum, baby boy._

Bucky shuddered and kept walking, ducking his head and jamming his hands into his pockets as his taught and fearful steps dragged him deeper and deeper into the guts of the Red Light District. A girl with a shock of red hair, tied into a thick braid at her shoulder winked at Bucky, tilting her skirt at the hip to reveal the lace of her panties.

“You a soldier, gorgeous?” She cooed, her teeth catching the minimal light of the rain slick alleyway.

“Not a rich one, toots,” Bucky mumbled keeping his head down.

“I’m not too steep, sugar,” She persisted.

Bucky sped up his walk, shaking his head, until he found the door of the man he had met a few days earlier. It was a shabby looking house, old London style with a door full of chips and dirt. The windows were thick with soot and grime (like the rest of this god-forsaken hovel of a district) to the point where they did not need curtains.

Bucky sighed, letting his back thump against the wall. He waited until the barely familiar face came down the same alleyway he had minutes earlier.

“Barney James?” Christopher Beech asked quietly, walking towards Bucky with an outstretched hand.

Bucky was suddenly very happy that he had used an alias, no matter how stupid he had felt making it. This man was the epitome of shifty. He had his trench coat pulled up and around his chin, casting shadows over his stubbly but otherwise handsome face. He had a hat on too, grey and expensive looking, but marked with age. Bucky guessed he was about his age, mid-twenties. His hair was sandy, like Steve’s but duller. Bucky automatically filled with guilt at comparing this lowlife to Steve.

“That’s me,” Bucky said in hushed tones, “Where are we going?”

Bucky gasped as Beech pulled him into a searching hug, running his hands up his sides with groping fingers and pressing wet lips into his neck.

“My car’s round back, you don’t mind that now do you, sweetness?” Christopher whispered in a hoarse voice, dripping with sleaze and desire.

 _I sure as hell will,_ Bucky thought to himself, but stopped, remembering why he was doing this in the first place.

_Bucky would do anything for Steve. Absolutely anything._

“Not at all,” Bucky forced a smile.

With that he followed Beech further down the labyrinth of alleys that made up the seedier parts of Brooklyn to a run-down Chrysler Royale. It looked like it used to be blue, but scratches and wear were starting to fade it to grey.

The area was deserted, a couple of warehouse buildings and derelict, bomb battered buildings that had been left for the dogs.

“In,” Beech ordered, opening the door and smacking Bucky hard on the ass.

Bucky gritted his teeth and supressed the urge to sock him one right there and then. He sat on the back seat, closing his eyes as Beech climbed on top of him, hands instantly animated, raking under Bucky’s shirt, scratching bitten fingernails over Bucky’s nipples. Bucky cursed the involuntary hardening in his slacks, and even more so the fact that Christopher had noticed.

“You love that, don’t you?” Beech growled, kissing Bucky wetly, “You’re a good little slut.”

Bucky was half-surprised at his own lack of rage at the derogatory phrase. Instead, hot tears of shame ached behind his nose. He swallowed them down. This would be over. It would end.

“Well, show me how well you can use that mouth,” Beech, tugged Bucky by the collar so he was on his knees in the cramped space between the front and back seats.

Beech pulled himself out of his worn out trousers, his belt flicking forward and hitting Bucky on the nose. Beech laughed a dirty laugh before pressing the tip of his throbbing length against Bucky’s lips.

“Say ahh, slut,” Beech hissed.

Bucky breathed in a shaky breath and opened his mouth. He squeezed his eyes shut as salty skin forced over his tongue and hit the back of his throat. Fingers weaved into his hair, anchoring him in place and trapping him. Bucky gagged around Beech’s shaft, tears of nausea and humiliation betraying him and running down his cheeks. He could hear the wet sounds of thrust after thrust hitting his palate over the strings of crude and vulgar remarks from Christopher. The man moaned loudly, disengaging from Bucky’s mouth with a rough push, but Bucky felt nothing to suggest that this was over yet.

His hear was hammering and his throat was raw and shivering with impending gags. He wiped his nose and eyes and was grateful that the windows of the Chrysler were too dirty for him to see his own roughhoused reflection.

“On your front,” Beech panted shoving Bucky’s head down against the leather of the back seats. It smelt like cigar smoke and polish.

Bucky stifled a sob, biting into his lip as Beech dragged down Bucky’s slacks and underpants.

An evil burn made Bucky’s eyes water even more as Christopher forced into him to the hilt. There was not time to acclimatize before the harsh rhythm began. It stung, so badly that within a few minutes Bucky was sure he had to be bleeding. He couldn’t hear Beech over the sound of skin hitting skin and his own heartbeat thrashing in his ears.

For a moment, he wished he was with Steve instead. He had thought about this with Steve lots of times, but had avoided it for Steve’s sake. He got beaten up for being queer and single, he did not need to be beaten up more for having a fella too. If it was Steve it would be gentle, slow and soft. He could kiss him, stroke his hair, whisper in his ear and hold him. Nothing like this. _Never_ like this.

Beech gave a grunt and pulled out. The emptiness made Bucky’s knees lose strength. He shuddered as Beech pulled him up and kissed him roughly, pushing his tongue into his mouth and squeezing his cheeks.

“You’re good, Barney,” Christopher sighed, “Real good.”  


Bucky did not reply as he pulled up his slacks and straightened his shirt. He got out of the car. It stung to walk.

Beech pressed a $20 dollar note into Bucky’s palm before driving off. It would be more than enough.

Bucky walked a few steps before emptying his stomach against the wall of the warehouse building next to him, the acid and retching burning his throat. He wiped his mouth with a shaky hand before sprinting off down the rain slick roads to his apartment.

 

He bolted up the stairs and into the apartment. Steve was asleep, on the couch where Bucky had left him. Bucky turned into the bathroom. He reached for the bar of soap on the sink and hurriedly bit off a chunk, squeezing his eyes shut as he chewed the sour tasting stuff into a paste, spreading it around his tongue and throat with trembling fingers before spitting it into the sink where it mixed with more vomit and violent retching. He rinsed with water, scrubbing his face till his cheeks burned. Sobs shook his chest until his legs gave way and he fell with his back to the bathtub.

He sat there until the sun started to cast wobbling shadows through the tiny window at the edge of bathroom. His whole body stung and ached.

He waited until he could hear birds to jog to the drugstore with the crumpled 20 in his pocket to pick up Steve’s medication.

 

#

“Where have you been?” Steve sounded like a protective mother.

“Got your medicine,” Bucky smiled, chucking the paper bag full of glass bottles at pill packets to Steve.

“You got all of them?” Steve looked at Bucky in disbelief, “How’d you do that, Buck?”

Bucky shrugged, getting a glass of water for the tablets and a teaspoon for the syrup.

It did not matter, Steve would never have to know.

_Bucky would do anything for Steve. Absolutely anything._

 


End file.
